


You Can Always Call Him "Glucose Guardian" Instead

by macwritesthings



Series: Glucose Guardian [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anxiety Attacks, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, sugar baby timothee, sugar daddy armie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwritesthings/pseuds/macwritesthings
Summary: Timothee is a college senior, broke as fuck, working two jobs, living in a shitty apartment with heat that never works, water that barely spits out of faucets, and has to figure out how to pay for the rest of college, not to mention, you know, food. When he puts up an ad on a website called "Sugar Daddies Seeking", he mostly does it as a drunken last-ditch effort to not end up on the streets. He doesn't expect Armie Hammer to answer the ad, or to be quite as ridiculously good-looking as he is. Really, it's fucking unfair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sugar Daddy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182744) by [WhatTheBodyGraspsNot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot). 



> HELLO HI in my drafts this is called "daddy fic what am I doing???!!!???" and a lot of you encouraged me to post it, so HERE IT IS. I am going to be working on this one AND What We Both Need, and uhhh I am very much into kink so this one will also have that. I really hope you guys enjoy how fucking ridiculous I am and this is and I love you all very much.

Timmy stared at his computer, chewing on his lower lip, chin resting on his fist. He couldn’t believe this was something he was literally about to do, that he was actually going to put on this profile on this stupid site, that he was fucking desperate enough to do something like this, to put himself out there like this, to just let older men basically……bid on him for companionship or sex or whatever for money, but fuck it, he was so fucking broke, and he’d tried everything else and his shitty jobs weren’t helping and he wasn’t talking to his parents and he just….needed to make it through college. But that didn’t mean that this was a good idea. This may, in fact, have been the worst idea he’d ever had. 

He’d originally mentioned it as a joke, and while Saoirse had stared at him, horrified (“a sugar daddy, Timmy? _Seriously?_ ”), until he reassured her he was joking, Ansel had taken him aside later and asked if he was serious. When Timmy had shrugged a little helplessly, Ansel had told him he knew a guy who’d done it before, had actually found a totally decent dude, but you had to be really specific about what you were and weren’t willing to do for money, clapped Timmy on the shoulder, told him he could use the term “glucose guardian” if “sugar daddy” made him feel too weird, and then left him alone in his room. Alone in his room in his shitty apartment where the walls were cracked and the electricity didn’t work half the time and he had too much time to get drunk on his shitty cheap wine in his fridge and decide that yes, putting up an ad on a site called _sugardaddiesseeking_ was a great idea.

Why the fuck was he doing this. God, he thought, pushing back from his crappy desk, pacing around the tiny one-room shithole, rubbing his hands over his face. Why was he _doing_ this. Okay, so, the pros, he thought, stopping in front of his skinny, dirty window and staring out at the buildings around him. He was doing this because it would be (hopefully) easy money, he had no qualms about blowing some guy if it meant he could pay his bills, he might be able to find someone who would actually, like, be into some of the shit he was into (he’d been as specific as possible, even though he’d blushed halfway through filling out the profile when it got to specific questions about sex and kinks), he might actually be able to get more than paying his bills out of it, and he wouldn’t (again, hopefully) have to live in this shithole any longer.

And the cons, he thought, blowing out a breath and leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window, worrying his lower lip between his teeth again. Well, he could get _murdered_ , he supposed, if the guy happened to be a serial killer or something, but since he’d had to go through a background check before even posting as a (god help him) sugar baby, he assumed the potential sugar daddies had to as well. But still, murder would be bad. He could end up with someone super old who _was_ into the things he was into but was like eighty. He could get some sort of STD, that would be terrible. Saoirse would probably tell him he was being fucking ridiculous, and she was scary. 

But really, he thought, turning back to the crappy desk and the ancient laptop, rocking from toes to heels and back again as he studied the “submit” button, the pros far outweighed the cons, and god, he needed the money. He needed the money, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was fucking _lonely_. He and his boyfriend had broken up six months before, and while it hadn’t been super serious, it had been nice to have someone to just be with. So, he was lonely, he was broke, and god, as embarrassing as this was, he was into older guys, and this just seemed…..like the logical, wine-drunk way to get all of those things at once. 

So he hit “submit” and flopped down on his back on the mattress on the floor before he could freak out about it, flopping one arm over his eyes and shoving his other hand down his pajama pants, stroking himself idly because he’d been half hard the entire time he’d been thinking about actually _doing_ this, about actually having some older guy be in charge of his finances and be able to just sort of exist and be pretty and maybe get fucked occasionally, and he wasn’t sure if it was so appealing because he was drunk or because he actually really wanted this, but he kept his hand moving, breath hitching a little as he thought of the possibilities this could provide, and he came with a broken curse, wiping his hand off on the towel next to the bed and draping himself in his blankets, burrowing down under them and resolutely _not_ shivering because the heat was broken. Again.

When he woke up the next morning, blurry eyes and sore throat and headache from the shitty wine, he stumbled to the bathroom, brushing his teeth while he peed to rid his mouth of stale wine taste, and then shuffled to the refrigerator and swearing when he realized all he had in there was old milk and an apple. Grabbing the apple, he headed to his wallet, sure he had enough in there to at least get eggs or something. And then his eyes fell on his laptop, and he stopped, apple caught between his teeth. Shit. The website. _Shit._

He scrambled to the chair, sitting and tapping impatiently at keys until the old computer whirred out of sleep mode, and the site flickered into the screen. His eyes immediately went to his inbox, and they widened, the apple falling from his mouth to his lap, and he fumbled to catch it. 

There were fifteen messages in his inbox. Fifteen.

He just kept staring for a minute, and then finally clicked on the icon, pulling them up. Two he immediately deleted because they just said “picture attachment” and he was _not_ about to get random dick pics from people he didn’t know, thanks. Three others followed suit, because they just had opening lines that were disgustingly cheesy and ridiculous, and two more after that because they were vulgar and he wasn’t here for that nonsense, either. That left him with eight, and he ate the apple as he scrolled through them, discarding three more before studying the five left. Four were interesting enough, he supposed, clicking through their profiles but not really seeing anything that clicked with him one hundred percent, although one was appealing--and something around an eighty percent match rate wasn’t bad. And besides, he thought, clicking on the last one, he couldn’t be picky, really. He was the one desperate enough to offer to be a sugar baby, he would just have to take what he could get.

But then he saw the last profile, and his mouth went a little dry. They didn’t use full faces in the photos, no one did, but god, the body on display in these was _amazing_ , and the guy was only thirty-four, and (he swallowed, hard) he was into things Timmy was into and _then some_. He rubbed his fingers over his mouth, considering, flipping through the photos posted, reading and re-reading the list of sexual preferences, the list of parameters he was looking for (companionship, dates to public events, eventually a sexual relationship if they got along well enough, someone to take care of (and oh, that last one hit a very interesting kink button Timmy didn’t even know he _had_ )). This guy seemed perfect, and Timmy was…..interested. Interested enough that he hit reply before he could think about it too much, replying to the rather formal introduction with a hurried one of his own, throwing out his class schedule for that week in case this guy wanted to meet in person, signed it with his screen name (Sweet Tea, something Saoirse and Ansel called him when they wanted to be clever and that he thought would be alluring enough to appeal to guys who wanted to spoil him) before slamming the laptop closed and just sliding off the chair onto the floor.

What the _fuck_ was he doing?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, this was a terrible idea, he thought, shifting in his seat and chewing on the edge of his thumbnail, feeling progressively more and more dumb by the minute, considering just walking out, going back to his shithole apartment and life and figuring out some other way to _not die_ if his heat and water and shit was turned off and he couldn’t afford food and he was halfway into a decent anxiety attack when the door opened and he blinked at the specimen walking in, broad shoulders under a perfectly pressed peacoat, open to reveal the flash of navy blue suit jacket underneath it, and then the man turned and Timmy’s breath caught in his throat because, yep, he recognized that build, even under the suit, even without knowing the face, and _wow_ , holy fuck, the face…..was amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THANK YOU ALL FOR JOINING ME ON THIS JOURNEY AND FOR THE LOVELY FEEDBACK SO FAR sorry i keep yelling i just love all of you a lot and appreciate all of you. have some more ridiculousness because we're all on this train together <3
> 
> ALSO there are slight mentions of anxiety and anxiety attacks in this chapter but nothing is described in detail, but just so people know. <3

He’d received a reply almost immediately after his message had gone through, the _ping_ of the inbox chime making him scramble off the floor and back onto his desk chair, trying to remember to take deep breaths as he fumbled to click on the little icon, still feeling monumentally stupid that he had even tried this in the first place, and more than a little out of his league, here, because this was a _whole_ new level of…..well, everything, for him, and he had no idea what to expect and wow what if this guy was just replying with a dick pic or something that would be terrible and Timmy had been _stupid_ enough to send him his class schedule, he’d completely forgotten his rationale last night about _maybe being murdered_ but it was too late to turn back now because he’d already clicked on the message, and---

_It looks like you’re free after four-thirty today, and I am, as well. I’m not sure what campus you’re on, but if there’s a place near your classes you’d like to meet, just send the address and I can be there by five pm._

He hadn’t signed it, but it was from the same account as the night before, _HarVDent_ , and Timmy wasn’t dumb, he knew his Batman comics, and he was really hoping the name referred to the guy being a lawyer or something and not, like, a two-faced murdering creep and oh _fuck_ he was definitely going to end up murdered. Timmy rubbed his hands over his face, cursing under his breath and risking the old chair breaking to spin it in a circle while he thought, wobbling on it slightly, before turning back to the computer and replying--

_Mo Java, Vinegar Hill. It’s the only one, you can’t miss it. --Sweet Tea_

And hit send before he could regret doing it, or think any more about how he might get fucking murdered. And now that he was meeting with a potential _sugar daddy_ , he realized, he needed to fucking shower and probably wear something on the nice side and his fucking water hardly worked and he kicked the desk in frustration, making it wobble precariously and he snatched the laptop off of it out of habit, just in case the fucking thing broke this time. Depositing the laptop on the bed, he dug through his closet, tossing out nice enough clothes, and maneuvered his way into the shower, shivering when the trickle of water that came out was cold, _again_ , but he managed to get clean and dressed and grab all his things in time to make his train to school, so really, it was a bonus.

He ignored the pang in his stomach halfway through the day reminding him all he’d eaten was an apple, and dug through his wallet, swearing. He had five bucks to his name and he didn’t get paid for another three days. So he just shifted his back higher on his shoulder and kept going through the motions of classes, kissing Saoirse on the cheek when he walked into composition, settling next to Ansel and stretching his legs out. When Saoirse reached over and dropped a bag on his desk, he just raised his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Sersh, I love random bags of stuff just being dumped on me.” She rolled her eyes and kicked him under his desk as students filed in.

“Just open it, Sweet Tea.” Timmy rolled his eyes, mouthed _yes, mom_ at her, and fumbled to untie the plastic handles of the bag and then stared into it, rolling his lips between his teeth and swallowing hard because wow, he was not going to be that guy who cried in the middle of class, especially not over two boxes of poptarts, cans of soup and green beans, and apples shoved into a grocery bag and unceremoniously shoved at him by his best friend, who knew he wouldn’t ask for the fucking things or ask for help at all, really, and so she just sprung shit like this on him so he couldn’t say no, and he cleared his throat, nodding once and tying the bag again.

“Thanks, Sersh, seriously,” he said, setting it gently next to his backpack and smiling when she reached over to squeeze his fingers before returning to her conversation with Ansel. He tapped his fingers against his desk for a minute, considering, and then when the teacher breezed into the room, leaned over and said, very quickly, “I have a meeting with a potential sugar daddy after this class, by the way, just thought the two of you should know!” And Ansel sputtered out a laugh through the swallow of water he’d just taken and Saoirse turned to him, mouth open and ready to berate him, he was sure, but their professor began talking to he smiled sweetly and sat back in his chair, ignoring the look from Sersh that was demanding they talk about this later.

He managed to escape after class, though, because Ansel was a fucking godsend and dragged Saoirse up to ask the teacher questions about their joint composition, and he grabbed the bag of food and his backpack and practically sprinted across campus, sliding through the subway entrance and wincing as he remembered that was his last swipe on his card, bemoaning the loss of the five dollars in his wallet since he sort of _needed_ the subway to get places, and he jumped off at his stop, scurrying home and undoing the three deadbolts before shoving his way inside the apartment, dropping the food off and his backpack and straightening his hair before dashing back out, locks re-locked, and making his way to Mo Java a few blocks away.

It only hit him once he walked in that he had no _fucking_ idea what this guy actually looked like, and he didn’t have a fucking phone so he couldn’t check his messages to see if he’d replied, and he hadn’t considered doing that on the brief stop home, so instead he just huffed and dropped into a seat at a table near the door, fiddling with his hands and watching the door, trying to figure out if any of the men walking in were who he was looking for. God, this was a terrible idea, he thought, shifting in his seat and chewing on the edge of his thumbnail, feeling progressively more and more dumb by the minute, considering just walking out, going back to his shithole apartment and life and figuring out some other way to _not die_ if his heat and water and shit was turned off and he couldn’t afford food and he was halfway into a decent anxiety attack when the door opened and he blinked at the specimen walking in, broad shoulders under a perfectly pressed peacoat, open to reveal the flash of navy blue suit jacket underneath it, and then the man turned and Timmy’s breath caught in his throat because, yep, he recognized that build, even under the suit, even without knowing the face, and _wow_ , holy fuck, the face…..was amazing.

He raised one hand in a tentative wave when the other man’s eyes scanned the coffeehouse, cool blue assessing the room before latching onto Timmy, and the faintest smile flickered across his face as he crossed, pulling out the chair across from Timmy and looking down at him before sitting. “Sweet Tea, I’m presuming?” he asked, the tone amused and a little guarded under all of it, and fuck if that didn’t make Timmy feel better, that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about this, and he flushed at hearing that name come out of this gorgeous human’s mouth, but he nodded, tipping his head back to meet the other man’s eyes.

“That would be me. I’m assuming, then, that you’re Gotham’s district attorney?” he smiled a little, and that got another slight grin out of his companion, who eased out of his coat before settling in across from Timmy, and god, wow, he was more gorgeous in person, and Timmy was totally screwed. 

“I am indeed. I’m glad you got the reference, I had a couple of people ask me why I was using my real name on an anonymous site.” Timmy snorted, shaking his head.

“People have no taste,” he said airily, picking at a scratch at the table, smiling when “Harvey” laughed across from him. They sat in silence for a moment before Timmy took a breath. “Okay, this is. Really new for me and also like. Kind of nerve-wracking, um, and honestly you calling me by my actual name would be, like, so much easier, so….” he stuck out his hand across the table. “I’m Timmy.”

The older man smiled, eyes amused, and he reached out, clasping Timmy’s hand in his and shaking firmly, hold lingering even after the shake was over. “I’m Armie,” he said, and god, Timmy thought, fingers caught in his grip, that name should be _stupid_ it should be so fucking stupid but Armie made it look so _good_ that he couldn’t even remember all the reasons why the name should be stupid, and he kept Timmy’s fingers caught in his for so long and studied him in silence for so long that Timmy felt his throat go dry, felt himself blushing, heat spreading from his throat up to his cheeks, and he dropped his head, curls falling in his eyes.

(He also did not realize how much of a turn-on a really attractive older dude staring at him was going to be, but hey, he learned new things about himself all the time, so this might as well be one of those times, right?)

Armie finally dropped his hand, and Timmy rubbed his fingers together, feeling ridiculous that he was, like, stupidly turned on just from the guy _shaking his hand_ , and when Armie kept looking at him, Timmy finally gestured a little absently with his hands, nervous. “Okay, what?” he laughed, rubbing his hands on his pants legs, palms suddenly sweating, feeling his heartbeat kick up a notch. “I mean, if I’m like. Definitely not what you were looking for I totally understand, like you can one hundred percent leave and I won’t be offended, I know this is super weird and I’m being super awkward about it already because I’ve never _done_ this, and--”

“Take a breath, kid,” Armie interrupted him, and Timmy realized he’d been talking progressively faster and faster, and he pressed his palms against the table, making himself take a breath in slowly and let it out, and he shrugged one shoulder, sheepish smile tugging at his lips, eyes on the table in front of him.

“Sorry. I get sort of. Rambly when I’m nervous,” he said softly, dragging one hand through his curls. 

“You’re nervous? I couldn’t tell,” Armie said, voice dry, and Timmy’s head flew up, mouth opening to protest until he saw the smile on Armie’s face and he relaxed, huffing out a breath. 

“Sure, yeah, just sit there being ridiculously gorgeous and blame me for being nervous, that’s totally fine,” he said, and then groaned, covering his face with his hands. “And I am literally the most idiotic person on the planet, I am making this _so_ weird--”

“Timmy. Seriously, it’s okay, and I’m going to need you to breathe.” He felt a hand on his wrist, tugging his hand down from his face, and he peered up at Armie through his hair, lowering one hand to the table. “I’ve only done this once, and it didn’t end well, so you’re not the only person who’s nervous, here. I’m just slightly better at keeping my emotions below the surface, so don’t think you’re the only one who’s feeling a little out of place.”

Timmy chewed his lower lip, finally lowering his other hand to the table, Armie’s hand still wrapped around his wrist. “Okay. That’s. Okay. Maybe we can start again?” Armie squeezed his wrist and let go, offering Timmy his hand.

“I’m Armie. I answered your ad because I liked your sarcasm, I thought you were beautiful, and you looked like the type of person I was looking for, and we had enough…..interests in common for me to think maybe we would work.”

Timmy grinned, taking his hand and gripping it. “Timmy. I replied to _only_ you because, honestly, you’re gorgeous, and I appreciated the Batman joke, and I liked what you were looking for and it all sounded…..very appealing.” He took a deep breath and continued before he could run out of courage. “Also I’m really fucking desperate and didn’t really know what else to do, and I figured maybe that should be out on the table right now, because if you don’t want to do this because I’m, like, mostly in it for the money and companionship, that’s totally fine, I’m just. Really at my last option, and I figured if being a sugar baby was the way to go, then…..you would probably be the best person to try that with.”

Armie was silent across from him for a moment, keeping their hands linked again, and Timmy just watched him, aware that his leg was bouncing under the table, that he was biting the corner of his lip, and just when he was about to apologize _again_ for being the complete opposite of smooth, Armie spoke.

“There’s nothing wrong with why you decided to try this,” he said, idly tracing his thumb over Timmy’s where he was still holding it. “Everyone has their reasons, and honestly, that’s one of the most common. I mean, I knew in signing up that I’d be entering into some sort of monetary compensation with someone, or monetary support, or however they wanted to phrase it. That’s sort of the point of the site.” His mouth quirked up at the corners and he lowered Timmy’s hand finally, folding his in front of him. “It’s okay it you’re anxious, especially if you’ve never done this before. And like it says in the profile, honestly, I’m looking for companionship, for someone to bring to public events because it looks better if I’m with someone, and for someone to take care of.” He studied Timmy at that last one, and Timmy felt himself blushing a little, and he shrugged.

“That one I’ve…..never really done,” he admitted, “but it, uh, it definitely sounded appealing. I don’t know what that really entails, but I’d….be more than willing to try it.” He shifted then, tipping his head down slightly and peering up at Armie through his eyelashes, the curls in his face, knowing exactly what that look had done with his ex, exactly the reaction it garnered, and he licked over his lower lip when Armie’s eyes went dark, flicked down to watch his tongue move over his mouth, and counted it a definite victory. “I’d be willing to try everything you listed,” he added, voice rough from arousal because seriously, if Armie kept _looking_ at him like that, the “possible sexual relationship” listed in his profile was going to become a _definite_ sexual relationship, and Timmy maybe needed to chill before getting ahead of himself.

Armie swore under his breath at that, leaning in to push Timmy’s hair out of his eyes, hand lingering on the nape of his neck for a brief moment, and Timmy trembled under the touch, swallowing hard. “You’ve never done this before?” he asked, and Timmy shook his head, Armie squeezing the back of his neck in response and watching Timmy shiver. “That’s a little hard to believe, because you’re being _such_ a good boy for me already.”

Timmy jerked at that, fingers clenching into fists on the table, whimpering softly because wow, okay, that was _also_ a thing, and he was so turned on he could hardly think straight, and Armie was looking at him smugly across the table, and oh, okay, two could play at this fucking game and Timmy bit his lower lip, slowly releasing it from between his teeth, tipping his head back into Armie’s hand, really hoping he wasn’t about to cross a fucking line. “Thank you, daddy,” he replied, voice soft, rough, sounding completely unlike him in his own ears, and he actually felt himself get harder when he said it out loud, and it was definitely more of a turn-on than he’d been expecting.

Armie inhaled sharply, fingers tightening on Timmy’s neck and making his mouth fall open, leaning into the touch, and Armie shifted his hand from Timmy’s neck to trace his thumb over his mouth briefly before dropping his hand, studying Timmy intensely. “I think we’re going to get along very well,” he said after a moment, and Timmy grinned, ducking his head a little because he was literally about to become someone’s _sugar baby_ and even though he’d signed up for the site with this exact purpose in mind, he hadn’t really expected it to happen so quickly. “Where are you staying right now?”

“Um….” he bit his lip again, shifting in his seat and rubbing his fingers over his mouth, feeling suddenly embarrassed about it. “I live in an apartment a couple of blocks from here, actually?” He wasn’t quite sure why he’d phrased it as a question--possibly because it was a shitty-ass apartment in a shitty-ass part of town, and Armie was frowning at him once he finished the sentence, pushing back and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair, holding one hand out to Timmy after he shrugged into his coat. 

“Come on,” he said, and Timmy scrambled into his own coat, hesitantly putting his hand in Armie’s and finding himself pulled out of the coffee shop, and once they hit the sidewalk, Armie simply said, “lead the way,” and Timmy frowned at him, their fingers still entwined, the moment seeming much too intimate for a first meeting even despite what they’d just been discussing,

“Lead the way to…..my apartment?” he asked, confused. Armie nodded, and Timmy scrubbed one hand through his hair, opening his mouth to reply before shrugging, heading in the direction and hunching his shoulders against the wind. This was fucking perfect, he thought, Armie’s hand warm in his, pressed close to his side and looming over him. His apartment was a piece of shit, and Armie wanted to be taken there, and god, what if he wanted to start the sex things _now_ they hadn’t even agreed to any terms of the relationship or anything or what if Armie actually _was_ a serial killer and was going to murder him once they got there, and Timmy didn’t even have a _phone_ to let Saoirse or Ansel know he was bringing some random dude over, and by the time they’d reached the building he was in another nervous state, but he fumbled out his keys as they climbed the three flights to his place, Armie looking around at the faded walls and railings hanging off their fastenings with severe concern.

When Timmy undid all three locks, he felt Armie about to say something, but before he could Timmy had shoved his shoulder against the door, jimmied it the way he needed to when it got cold and stuck, and managed to shove it open, revealing his tiny, cramped, shitty apartment in all its glory. “Um,” he said, eloquently, shoving his keys in his pockets and closing the door. “Sorry about, like…..everything? But mostly the cold, the heat’s been sort of fucked for a long time….” he trailed off as Armie moved in past him, looking at the mattress on the floor covered in blankets, the rickety computer desk and ancient laptop, the composition books scattered everywhere, pieces of music tacked up along the walls half-finished, moving to the shoebox bathroom and turning on the faucet, water barely sputtering out. Timmy was suddenly extremely embarrassed about everything about his life, and he crossed his arms, hunching in on himself and leaning against the narrow kitchen counter.

Armie came back out, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Can you pack up what you need?” he asked, thumbs working the screen, and Timmy frowned, confused.

“I--well, yeah, I don’t really have that much.”

“Alright. Will you do that, please?” he asked, finally looking up from the phone as he held it against his ear, watching Timmy steadily. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. But this is really not an acceptable place for anyone to be living, and I’d like to get you out of here.” He turned away after that, speaking softly into the phone and moving back into the hallway after jimmying the door open, and Timmy just stared after him. 

Where the hell was Armie going to _take_ him?

He thought about it for approximately two seconds, decided that if he was going to die he might as well do it in some rich dude’s house than in this shitty place, and by the time Armie came in three minutes later he had all his clothes in his duffel bag and all his school stuff shoved in his backpack, music pushed hastily into folders and crammed in there as well, laptop tucked under his arm. Armie studied him, two bags in hand, and Timmy flushed. “I don’t really have a lot of stuff,” he mumbled, and Armie crossed to him, taking the duffel from him.

“I’m not judging you for it,” he said simply, and the fact that he said it without any sort of pity or defensiveness made Timmy believe him. He re-locked the deadbolts and followed Armie down the stairs, hurrying to keep up.

“Where are we going?” he asked, emerging into the cold and gaping at the town car waiting at the curb that Armie was putting his duffel into before turning and taking Timmy’s backpack from him, stowing it in the trunk as well before turning to Timmy, brushing at the light flakes of snow landing on his jacket.

“ _You_ are going to a hotel,” he said, hands resting lightly on Timmy’s shoulders. “And I’m going home, because as much as I’d like to take you with me right now, we really haven’t talked about all the parameters of this yet, but I just. Couldn’t leave you there any longer. We’re going to have a formal contract drawn up, but you can consider this the beginning of the arrangement.” Timmy just blinked at him, overwhelmed slightly by the very sudden change of events, and then he just nodded, wordlessly, and Armie squeezed his shoulders. “Good boy.” (And wow, okay, that was a _thing_ for Timmy, apparently.) Armie handed him a folded sheet of paper, smiling. “Your room number, it’s under my last name, which is also on there. My phone number is also there, and I’d just like you to check in with me when you get there. Feel free to order whatever you might need while you’re there, my card number is on file.” He handed Timmy a pen then, and a blank sheet of paper. “Can you write your number down for me?”

Timmy blushed, fumbling to put the paper with Armie’s information in his pocket before fiddling with the paper he’d just been handed. “I don’t, um. I don’t have a phone,” he said quietly, suddenly really realizing just how fucking pathetic he must look to Armie, how desperate and stupid and childish, and he didn’t realize he was tearing the paper into small pieces until Armie’s hands covered his, stilling them and easing the paper out of his hands.

“That’s okay. Then just call me from the hotel, and if I need to get in touch with you, I’ll call and ask for your room.” He squeezed Timmy’s shoulders once more before stepping back. “I’ll talk to you when you settle in, and then we can make plans to talk more.” Timmy nodded, completely speechless at the one-eighty his life had just done in the last hour, and Armie grinned, nudging him into the car before leaning in and pressing his lips to Timmy’s forehead, ducking out and closing the door before Timmy could react.

As the town car pulled away from the curb, Timmy slumped all the way down in the seat, blinking up at the ceiling of the car, pinching himself to see if he was really awake. It hurt, so he figured yep, he was really awake, and yep, that had _definitely_ just happened, and yep, he still had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he felt slightly more confident that he could figure it out. 

Probably.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was also the only time drunk Timmy had ever made a choice that ended in something this fucking great happening, so he was definitely going to have to get drunk and make decisions more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES HI apologies for this being on the short side (they say, knowing this is almost 2000 words long) but it's been A Time the last couple of days but i wanted to get this chapter posted for you guys. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT???? i love your comments and reacting to things with you all <333

He’d expected something fancy, but what he hadn’t expected was for the car to literally pull up in front of the fucking _Palace Hotel_ , and he just sat there and stared at it for a good two minutes before he realized he was, like, supposed to get out of the car and go inside, and he fumbled himself and his bags out and managed to thank the driver, and then he just stood there, because holy fuck. This was so much nicer than he’d imagined where he was going would be, and this was weirdly surreal and fucked up and somehow his feet were just not going to move because he was suddenly very aware that he was wearing clothes that probably looked awful compared to everyone else and he was carrying basically everything he owned in two bags and now he had to go into the fanciest fucking hotel in all of New York and just pretend like he belonged there.

Yeah, cool, that wasn’t anxiety inducing _at all_.

And of course, the longer he stood out there the more the doorman just stared at him, so he finally huffed out a sigh and went towards the doors and the doorman didn’t even comment on what he looked like, just opened the door and called him sir and wished him a good evening and it was really fucking surreal, and when he got to the front desk and nervously pulled out the piece of paper Armie had given him, he stumbled over his words telling the concierge that he was checking in under “Armie Hammer” but no one really noticed and they gave him his key and directions to his room and he was wandering through huge hallways with paintings that probably cost a million dollars or some shit before finally making it to his room and opening the door and _jesus christ_ it was…..so much nicer than he was anticipating.

He walked in cautiously, still kind of half sure he was going to be axe murdered, or something, but the room was empty, the bed so incredibly tempting that he just dropped his bags on the floor, shucked off his sweater and jeans, and crawled right on top of it, almost whimpering at how soft it was because _fuck_ it was like a literal cloud, and he rolled around under the blankets for a few moments just to revel in the fact that he could spread his arms and legs out all the way without falling off the bed, and then just laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, because of all the ways he’d pictured his life going when he woke up this morning, this was not one of them. This was also the only time drunk Timmy had ever made a choice that ended in something this fucking great happening, so he was definitely going to have to get drunk and make decisions more often.

(No, he thought about ten seconds later, remembering the time he and Ansel had thought that drunk sledding off the roof of a frat house was a good idea, drunk Timmy needed to actually stop making decisions.)

He’d already closed his eyes by the time he remembered he was supposed to call Armie, and he groaned a little, dragging himself out of his blanket nest to rummage through his pants pocket until he found the piece of paper with Armie’s number on it, and then he just stared at it, chewing his lower lip. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so hesitant about this, about calling him and letting him know he was in the hotel room and not dead or hadn’t run away or something or chickened out, but the semi-absurdity of the situation finally hit him: he was literally staying in the fucking _Palace Hotel_ in a room someone else was paying for and acknowledging that doing so was the beginning of him being this person’s _sugar baby_ , and wow, maybe drunk Timmy didn’t make such good decisions after all, because suddenly this seemed less like a good situation and more of a _what the fuck did I get myself into_ situation. Blowing out a breath, Timmy ran one hand through his hair, tugging on the ends as he thought.

He’d wanted to do this. It had been, really, the only viable option he’d seen left for himself, other than maybe stripping, and he was horribly uncoordinated, so he wouldn’t have made much money as a stripper. Plus, this way he was in a _possible_ sexual relationship (although, again, who the fuck was he kidding? With the way Armie looked, he was willing to bet that the hypothetical part of “possible sexual relationship” wasn’t going to last long) and had someone who would look out for him and maybe give a shit about him, and that was the biggest appeal. The money, yes, the money was also appealing, because not getting evicted from his apartment or kicked out of school for not paying tuition or starving because he had no food was ideal, but really, he was just so fucking _lonely_ all the time that the idea of someone wanting to take care of him was….the most appealing.

God, he was pathetic.

Double pathetic because he _knew_ Ansel and Saorise did everything they could to help and didn’t make it seem like charity or pity, but they weren’t….equipped to make him feel like maybe he mattered, in a more romantic sense.

Even if this whole sugar baby--sugar daddy thing wasn’t a _legitimate_ romantic thing, it was still sort of playing at one, it was a give and take on both ends, and maybe that would be enough, and now he was just stalling.

So he blew out another breath and dialed the number on the paper, chewing on his thumbnail this time and half-hoping it would just go to voicemail so he could just say he was in the hotel and then hang up, but on the third ring Armie answered, and by the corresponding flip in his stomach when Timmy heard Armie’s voice, he knew he was well and truly fucked, already.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing one hand through his hair, nervous suddenly. “It’s, um. It’s Timmy, I’m just. Calling to let you know I got in the room okay and no one tried to throw me out for looking like a scruffy nobody, or anything.” He winced at that, smacking the heel of his hand against his forehead. Smooth, Timothee, real smooth.

But Armie was chuckling on the other end of the line. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Although with my name attached to what you do, no one would dare try to throw you out.” He didn’t sound like he was bragging, Timmy noted, he was just speaking in the same matter-of-fact tone he’d used when he told Timmy he wasn’t judging him, and that was oddly settling. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I didn’t….the restaurants in this place are way too fucking fancy, I would look so ridiculous,” Timmy replied, fiddling with the edge of the blanket and shrugging one shoulder even though Armie couldn’t see him. “It’s cool, though, I had an apple earlier.” Of course, _earlier_ was at around ten that morning, but Armie didn’t need to know that.

A low hum of disapproval came through the line, and Timmy’s shoulders hunched automatically. “That’s not going to do,” Armie said, and Timmy heard shuffling on the other end of the line, soft voices in the background before Armie spoke again. “There is such a thing as room service, you know.” The tone was teasing again, but stern under it, and Timmy had no idea why the combination of both those tones was so _hot_ , but he’d been learning a lot about himself the last couple of hours, so he figured he could roll with this as well. 

Taking a breath, he chewed the tip of his tongue for a moment before asking, “so….does this sort of count as you taking care of me? Making sure I’m eating and stuff?” He was rewarded with another soft laugh, his own mouth twisting up into a smile in return.

“That’s part of it, yes,” Armie replied. “So you can, if you want, consider this a mandate of the relationship: I want you eating at least the three basic meals of the day, and I will check to make sure you’re doing it. I’ll know if you lie.” The last part was said so casually, almost a throwaway statement, but it made Timmy shiver.

“What happens if I lie?” he asked, curious to know if the answer was what he thought it was.

“Well, I would hope you wouldn’t, since you’re already being so good for me, but if you lie, you get punished. It’s a simple system,” Armie said, and the tone being so _casual_ was just fucking Timmy up, making him shift in the bed as he felt himself start to get hard, and god, what the _fuck_ was his life that he was sitting here under, like, a thousand dollar duvet, listening to his _sugar daddy_ talk about _punishing_ him?

Honestly….if this was his life, it was pretty awesome.

“I can be good,” he said, swallowing hard and blushing a little at the fact that he was actually saying this _out loud_ , acknowledging that this was the dynamic they were going to agree to, that he would do what Armie said or get punished for it, and he heard the smile when Armie answered.

“I know you can, Sweet Tea,” he said, and Timmy laughed, pressing his hand to his face, and he heard Armie snicker. “I couldn’t resist, the name suits you. So you’re going to eat, and I’ll send the car for you in the morning to take you to school, since I have your class schedule. Is an hour before classes start soon enough?”

Timmy cleared his throat, nodding into the phone, twisting the cord around his fingers. “An hour is good, yeah. Thanks. Um….when do I get to see you again?” he added, almost shy, berating himself for sounding like some dopey teenager.

“I’ll have the car bring you over tomorrow after you’re out of class,” Armie said, and then there was more shuffling, a muffled _hold on_ from the other end of the line, and then Armie’s voice again, clear. “I have to go, baby, I’m sorry, my next meeting arrived. But I’ll see you tomorrow night. Eat something, and get some sleep.”

Timmy had _flushed_ when Armie called him _baby_ , never really liking the endearment before, but now, knowing what kind of relationship they were going to be getting into…..it was far more appealing. “I will. And Armie, um. Thanks again for this, seriously, it’s…..thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And then the line went dead, and Timmy set the phone down carefully before laying back in the bed, wiggling out of his boxers, and getting one hand around himself, whimpering at the contact because wow that whole conversation had worked him up _far_ more than he realized, and as he panted out Armie’s name as he came, he realized that maybe he was in over his head a little more than he’d anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come join me on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com) where there is no shortage of ridiculous nonsense


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy definitely wasn't expecting a fucking mansion when the driver pulled up in front of Armie's house, but then, he wondered, why was he surprised by that, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have this thing!! timmy is awkward!!! armie is a huge flirt and it's awful!!! (jk it's not)
> 
> ALSO timmy has an anxiety attack in this chapter, just in case that's going to be triggering for anyone. it's not too terrible, he just freaks out a little, but it is in here.
> 
> thank you all so much for the feedback so far IT IS MAKING ME LAUGH A LOT. thanks for your patience with updates. <3

He spent about forty minutes just staring at the room service menu because what the _fuck_ was some of this shit rich people were eating? Half the menu was in French, which wasn’t a problem for him, but it was all gross shit like this nasty-ass smoothie looking thing that was blended fois gras and escargot and who the _fuck_ blended together snail eggs and goose livers that was _disgusting_. The menu was also about a hundred (okay, twenty) pages long, and when he finally got to the normal food section he’d realized how hungry he was just from looking at photos of food, and while he definitely wanted to order way more food than he knew he could eat just because it all looked so good, but he also didn’t want to take advantage of the fact that he wasn’t paying for it…..but also wasn’t that kind of the point??

God, this was confusing.

Finally, he ended up with the largest cheeseburger he’d ever seen in his fucking life, fries so good that he swore he actually orgasmed when he ate one of them (seriously, what the fuck were rich people putting in their food to get it to be this _good_ ), and a chocolate shake because, okay sue him, he was still kind of a child, and this was the nicest place he’d ever stayed and someone was buying food for him, and honestly, he could probably use the extra pounds considering he’d dropped a lot once he’d had to choose between rent and food.

He devoured half the burger and fries before getting full and, honestly, feeling a little sick, so he padded naked to the little kitchenette area and shoved them in the fridge, then wandered the rest of the room, poking into the closets and admiring the huge fucking jet tub when he got to the bathroom, and he debated for all of ten seconds before turning on the faucets, getting the water as fucking hot as he could and watching the tub fill. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation, and once it was in danger of overflowing, he shut off the taps and eased one foot into the water, hissing as the heat of it hit his skin but then whimpering as he lowered himself into it, his entire frame able to fit in the tub easily, all of him completely encompassed in blessed, amazing, scalding hot water. He blinked away sudden tears, rubbing at his face with the heels of his hands. Stupid to be fucking sitting in a giant hotel suite crying about hot water, he thought, sniffling and wiggling his toes under the water, running one damp hand through his hair before holding his breath and sinking all the way under the water, hoping somehow that the heat of it would beat back the tears he could still feel wanting to form.

He surfaced noisily, sputtering a little and pushing his wet curls out of his face, and then searched for the controls for the jets, sighing in pleasure when they finally turned on, and he maneuvered until he was settled against them, pressure pounding against his back and shoulders, and if his face was a little damp, well, he was in a bathtub, that was to be expected. His throat was tight just because he was unused to the steam, probably. It was fine.

He stayed in until the water got cool, then drained the tub and dried off, wrapping himself in one of the huge robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door, intent on falling face-first on the bed and sleeping until he absolutely had to wake up. As he headed back towards the bed a note on the floor under the door caught his eye. Frowning, he bent and grabbed it, studying his name on the front in elegant font, and he shrugged, heading to the bed and bouncing onto the middle of it, sliding one finger under the flap to open it and pulling out a heavy piece of Palace stationary, the same writing flowing over it, and he felt himself flushing as he read the message:

_I called and checked with the front desk and they said you’d ordered food. Good boy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep._

He hugged the letter to his chest, feeling stupid, and then groaning and falling back on the bed feeling _mortified_ because this handwriting didn’t match the note Armie had given him with the hotel information on it, which meant he dictated it to some hotel employee, which meant they now all probably thought that Timmy was some sort of _weirdo_ or something, but he tapped his fingers against the paper and decided he didn’t really give a fuck, because the very fact that Armie had checked in on him to make sure he was following orders made him shiver a little, warm all over from pleasure, and he propped the note on his bedside table and shucked off the robe, snuggling between the blankets.

He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

\------------

He didn’t have any classes with Sersh or Ansel the next day, which he was counting as a silent blessing, because he knew they both had bombarded his Facebook with messages (not having a phone meant becoming creative with ways to get in touch with him, and most often they just messaged him until he answered) and Saoirse’s especially had been disbelieving, insisting that he was telling some sort of joke, and that this wasn’t real, but if it was _damn it, Timothee, answer me so we can talk about this!!!!_

Ansel’s, on the other hand, was just the eggplant emoji followed by the peach emoji, which Timmy appreciated.

The same car, true to Armie’s word, had taken him to school that morning and had had fucking muffins and coffee in the backseat of it, waiting for him, and Timmy had rolled his eyes but eaten a muffin in case the driver was going to report back that he hadn’t--and also, he admitted, because Armie told him that it was a rule and he didn’t want to start things off by breaking rules. When the car picked him up after school at the designated building, he slid in the backseat and blinked at the basket of snacks sitting back there, and then shrugged. Apparently this wasn’t a weird thing, as the driver didn’t comment on their presence, and he settled back to watch the city pass by as they drove.

He fiddled with his ancient backpack straps, watching the crowded blocks give way to more spacious streets, brownstones spaced apart with actual yards in front, giving way to houses farther and farther apart, and the closer they got to wherever the fuck it was Armie lived, the more anxious Timmy got about it, because wow, he was out of his fucking element here. When the car finally stopped, though, he actually gawked, because they were in front of a house with a fucking gated entrance, and the driver was putting in some sort of code, and the gates slid open smoothly and revealed a short driveway and the house was _fucking huge_ and if he hadn’t been panicking before, well, he fucking was now.

Because this wasn’t a house, he thought, stepping out when the car stopped and staring up at the sprawling brick facade, the huge porch, the balcony wrapping around the upper level, the yard that was probably called _the grounds_. This was a goddamn mansion of sorts, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing jeans that hadn’t been replaced in three years and shoes with fucking holes in the soles of them and his backpack was being held together by fucking safety pins, and he took a couple of deep breaths before realizing he was still standing in one spot, not moving, and the door had opened and a familiar figure was striding towards him from the porch, and he tried to work up a smile, but felt himself hyperventilating a little bit.

“Hi, so when you said I was coming over, honestly, I was sort of picturing like a penthouse or something not a literal mansion and this is like super nice, and maybe you made a mistake with me, because wow, I do _not_ belong here, and--” his babbling was cut off when Armie just stepped in and wrapped his arms around Timmy, drawing him in and resting one hand on the back of his neck, arms warm around him, firm, holding him in place.

“Breathe,” he said, and Timmy felt himself take one shuddering breath in and then release it, arms hesitantly moving to wrap around Armie’s waist in return, and Armie was playing with the curls at the nape of his neck and that was nice, and the world wasn’t shrinking in on itself any longer, and that was nice, and Timmy suddenly realized that he really looked like a child, having an anxiety attack about a house, but Armie didn’t seem to mind, was just holding onto him in the driveway, waiting for him to calm down, and finally Timmy sighed and shrugged a little, not letting go.

“Sorry about that,” he said, chewing his lower lip. “I sort of….have this anxiety thing?”

“It’s fine,” Armie’s voice was a low rumble beneath where his ear was resting, his heart a faint thump underneath it, and Timmy sighed, nodding. “Honestly, it’s fine. It’s overwhelming, I know, for things to be moving at this pace, and I’m here to make sure you’re okay. So we can just stay here until you are. I should have maybe warned you about the exact size of the house,” he added, voice teasing, and Timmy snorted.

“Yeah, maybe? I mean, fuck,” he said, tipping his head back to meet Armie’s eyes, “what do you _do_ anyways? I kind of assumed lawyer because of the Harvey Dent reference, but…..do lawyers usually live in mansions?”

“I am a lawyer, yes,” Armie replied, amused, and he stepped back, dissuading Timmy’s initial disappointment by taking his hand, scooping up his backpack with the other and leading Timmy towards the house. “I’m a very particular type of lawyer, and I have some very rich clients. Added to that, my family is what you’d call old money, I suppose, and so that helped as well.”

Timmy nodded, climbing the steps behind him and taking pleasure in the feeling of their fingers linked together. “Okay, makes sense. Super rich dude becomes more super rich by becoming a lawyer and then decides to use that money to pay someone for the pleasure of their company.” When Armie looked back at him, eyebrow raised, Timmy grinned. “Just telling it like it is.”

“You’re insufferable,” Armie informed him, and Timmy shrugged, coming to a stop in the--the foyer, he guessed, or whatever rich people called their entryways.

“I am, yes. Insufferable and awkward and anxious, like, all the fucking time--”

“And fuck seems to be your favorite word.”

Timmy’s returning grin was wicked. “And one of my favorite activities.” He held his breath after he said it, not sure if he’d crossed a line, but Armie just smiled, slow and almost predatory, and Timmy felt his stomach jolt, felt himself starting to get hard, and all Armie did was lift his hand and brush his mouth barely over his knuckles and Timmy was a fucking mess, ready to just puddle at his feet.

“I’m sure we can find a way to work that in,” Armie said, voice low, purposeful, and had Timmy thought that two could play this game? Because he and Armie weren’t even in the same fucking _league_ of the game. “We have some things to talk about first, though, don’t we, baby?” Timmy nodded, all words caught in his throat, and Armie laughed, leaning in to brush his lips over Timmy’s jaw gently, a barely-there pressure that had Timmy whimpering. “So responsive already. I can tell you’re going to be very good for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” Timmy nodded again, almost frantically, and he felt like he should feel stupid with how dumb and turned on he was getting after, like, two seconds of physical contact, but he was barely out of his teens and Armie was hot as fuck and doing _that_ and there was no one on earth who could blame him for this reaction.

No one!!!

Armie tugged his hand again, straightening up. “Let’s go in the kitchen. I’m getting things together for dinner, so we can talk while that’s being made, and see how the evening progresses.” He turned that wicked smile on Timmy again, and he swallowed hard, then scowled at Armie as he followed him.

“Now who’s being insufferable?” he muttered, but he grinned a little as Armie laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he was maybe feeling a little out of his element. 
> 
> But he wasn’t going to freak out about it (much. Probably.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the update, as promised for today! I also want to thank you guys again, so much, for your help with reporting the work that was copying mine. If there had been a "remix of" or "inspired by" I wouldn't have minded so much, but there was no credit to me and this thing I've been working on for almost a month now and have spent a lot of time creating. So thank you all for that. I honestly wish no ill will to the other author, I just wish that credit had been given. 
> 
> And also I'm the world's biggest tease, and I'm sorry.
> 
> ALSO SIDENOTE: I am going to be on vacation hiatus until July 16th. I will be getting home the 14th, but don't want to promise any updates before the 16th. Thank you all for your patience while I've been dealing with this family illness, as well, and for all the kind words of support. I was going to try to update again before I left, but it's just not going to be possible. Thanks for all your support, again.

Timmy wandered into the kitchen after Armie, trying really hard not to gawk at everything he passed because he was pretty sure he was walking by, like, actual original old ass paintings by dead guys on the walls, not just crappy reproductions anyone could buy off the Internet or whatever. There were actual fucking copper (copper? Bronze? Whatever, he wasn’t an art major) busts of more famous dead people on a little table in the middle of one of the hallways that seemed to just sort of be there for the purpose of displaying stuff, and the entire entryway had been bigger than his apartment.

So he was maybe feeling a little out of his element. 

But he wasn’t going to freak out about it (much. Probably.) 

He made another turn, already sure he was going to get lost on the way back to the door when he had to leave, and then just stopped and stared, because there, in the middle of yet another fucking room, was a small living room peppered with loveseats and armchairs and in the middle, the focal point of the whole room, was a fucking Bösendorfer. He’d only ever seen them in music stores, roped off behind velvet ropes like the fucking George Clooney of grand pianos (which they basically were, sexy and sleek and just unattainable enough for the regular Joes but close enough for them to drool over at every opportunity) but he’d never seen one in _person_ and before he realized he was doing it, he’d crossed into the room, and just stood, staring at it. He’d kind of forgotten he was supposed to be following Armie and hadn’t said anything about leaving to drool over his piano, the desire he had to just touch it, just even touch the _lid_ he didn’t need to even play it, and he felt himself starting to shake again, just a little, hands clenching at his sides because jesus _christ_ this thing cost more than his entire college tuition and what the fuck was he even doing here except essentially getting paid to let someone fuck him and wow he did _not_ think this through this was maybe a terrible idea and why, _why_ did his anxiety always get the best of him after he felt super confident about a thing what was this rollercoaster and why did it exist?? 

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get his breathing under control, and when the hand landed gently on his shoulder he actually yelped and jumped away guiltily, shoving his hands in his pockets and saw Armie watching him, concerned. 

“I didn’t touch it,” he blurted out without thinking, and then winced and rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes because wow, Timmy, what a fucking stupid thing to say and now he really looked like a stupid kid, but when he peeked out from behind his hand, Armie was just standing in front of him, shrugging.

“I don’t mind if you do,” he said, studying Timmy carefully. “It’s meant to be played, even though there’s no one in residence currently who can play it.” Timmy chewed his lower lip, sliding his eyes over to the beauty once again, and he caught Armie’s smile in his periphery. “If you want to touch it, I’m not going to object, but if it could wait until after we eat, that would be nice.”

Timmy nodded, chewing on his lower lip still, and finally dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. About, like….me being the least suave idiot to ever exist.”

Armie just shrugged and walked out again, Timmy scurrying to keep up. “Han Solo’s not exactly suave either, you know, and he got laid.” Timmy stared at his back, mouth open, before the laugh bubbled out of him.

“Oh my _god_ you’re such a fucking _geek_ ,” he said, the tone delighted, and the look Armie shot him was trying so hard to be unamused and failing because he was smiling a little under the stern face he was attempting, and Timmy just grinned and poked Armie in the side. “Huge geek. Batman references, Star Wars. You probably speak Klingon, too, huh?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” Armie said as they finally rounded into the kitchen, but Timmy heard the laugh in his tone and grinned. So far, this was pretty okay. Plus, there was a Bösendorfer he’d get to touch later.

\------------

Turned out, they didn’t really do much talking about _them_ or the “relationship” while they were making dinner, or while they were eating, because Timmy was too interested in the fact that this drop-dead sexy gorgeous motherfucking _mansion dwelling_ lawyer was a huge nerd underneath everything, so he spent the majority of the time trying to wheedle more information out of Armie about that, and then got teased in return when it came out that he knew just as much as, if not more, about those things as Armie. It was nice, though, and put him at ease, and made the fancy-ass shit around him seem way less intimidating, because under it all, yeah, Armie was this really rich dude, but he was also into super chill stuff and liked normal people things and so far hadn’t tried to make Timmy eat a gross fois gras/escargot smoothie, so he was totally winning, here.

And when Armie took him back in the room with the couches and the Bösendorfer after dinner, Timmy literally felt his palms _itch_ to touch it, but Armie stilled him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders before one slid up to cup the back of his neck, making Timmy shiver a little and lean into him, catching the quirk of Armie’s mouth as he did so.

“Good boy,” the words were quiet, but they went straight to Timmy’s dick nonetheless and he licked over his lower lip, waiting. Armie just studied him for a minute, and while that should have made him super nervous, it was kind of nice, he realized, just sort of being watched, and then he realized he was waiting to be told _what to do_ and that just made him _harder_ and Armie seemed to realize the moment he realized that was what was going on, because he smiled, slow and sort of feral, making Timmy’s knees weak, and he nudged him a little towards the piano. “Go on, Sweet Tea,” he said, voice a low rumble, and Timmy managed to shake his head, swallow past the dryness in his throat.

“I, uh. I’m. I’m good, if you. Wanted to talk or something, now, I. It’s not like you’re selling the piano or anything anytime soon, right?” Armie’s hand moved, sliding up to cup his cheek, and before Timmy really registered what was happening, Armie’s mouth was slotted over his, and Timmy _felt_ himself jerk into the touch, hands flying up to grip Armie’s wrists, whimpering a little at the slight bite of teeth over his lower lip that was soothed just as quickly by Armie’s tongue tracing over the bite, dipping into his mouth to trace behind his teeth and literally take him apart piece by fucking piece, slow, agonizing kiss after another, grip firm on his jaw but his mouth gentle in contrast and by the time Armie finally drew back, Timmy could _feel_ himself shaking. 

“Look at you,” Armie murmured, tracing his fingers over Timmy’s mouth, wet and slack from the onslaught, and Timmy’s tongue flicked out of its own accord, barely tracing over the tips of Armie’s fingers, and he watched as Armie’s eyes went dark, narrowed in on his mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous, baby.” Timmy flushed and leaned in, nuzzling the spot under Armie’s jaw where his beard ended and smooth skin started again, enjoying the contrast of sensations.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, pressing his mouth below Armie’s ear, just to test what would happen, not really a kiss so much as his mouth just trailing over skin, but he felt Armie laugh, felt his hands drop down to grip Timmy’s waist, and oh god, okay, yeah, that was a thing, god, his hands were _huge_ and he had almost all of Timmy’s frame circled with just his hands and Timmy shuddered again.

“Thought you wanted to talk?” Armie asked above him, tone innocent, as his fingers inched towards Timmy’s waistband, tips just barely breaching under his jeans, and Timmy huffed out a breath, hot against Armie’s neck, squirming in his grasp.

“Okay, yeah, um. Talking. I’ll tell you if you do something I don’t like, if we’re going to be kinky I use the red-yellow-green safeword system, I won’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this if you won’t, either, and I really want your dick in my mouth, daddy.”

He felt Armie jerk below him, and smiled viciously pleased with himself.

“I’m fine with all of those terms,” Armie said, and Timmy cheered internally because he sounded just a _little_ wrecked. “I’m going to add that I’d like you to move in here, so I have access to you. I’ll get you the car to take you to school and things.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Timmy said, surging up to wrap his arms around Armie’s neck. “Good talk, okay, we talked. Can I _please_ suck your dick now, daddy? I was good.” The words rolled off his tongue before he was really aware of them, but god, feeling Armie hard against him was _killing_ him and it had been so fucking long since he’d had sex with _anyone_ , and okay, yeah, so he really liked sucking cock, so what. Not a crime. But Armie hummed and pushed him back a step, laughing when Timmy whined, and turned him around, facing the piano.

“You were going to play for me first, weren’t you?” he asked, trailing his fingers up and down Timmy’s spine, and oh, _okay_ , that’s how he was going to play this, and wow, rude, first of all, Timmy thought, but also ridiculously hot, to be incredibly turned on and desperate and practically _begging_ to suck Armie off, and Armie was still completely in control, completely on top of everything that was happening, and Timmy shifted, then took a deep breath. He wanted to be good, god, he wanted to be good more than he realized (and maybe this praise kink thing shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, but he could think about that later, when he wasn’t so hard he was going to literally rip his pants), and he nodded.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my good boy. And if you listen, and you’re good, later you can suck daddy’s cock. How’s that sound, baby?” Timmy had to literally clench his hands into fists to feel the dig of his nails against his palm to keep from coming, just from that, because _wow, unfair._

“T-that sounds good, daddy.”

He felt Armie laugh more than anything before he was nudged towards the bench, and he had like thirty seconds of being really mad he was too turned on to enjoy this experience before realizing that if he was going to live here he could literally touch the piano any time he wanted, and right now, the gorgeous grand in front of him was a means to an end.

Play nicely, suck Armie’s cock.

Win-win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com) with me, where i regularly cry over timmy's hair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK MORE NONSENSE FORMATTED AND WRITTEN ON MOBILE!!!!! I know I’m on hiatus but I had this idea and here it is and sorry if it sucks or is too short or something idk my thumbs are gonna fall off!!!! Love you guys!!!!

Timmy rolled his shoulders, walking to the piano and trying to take deep breaths. This would be easy--play something and play it well, get something he wanted in return. He was a fucking music major, for god’s sake, he knew how to play and play well under pressure. That was, like, his entire life. And honestly as soon as he got close enough to the beauty to basically smell the polish coming off it, he kind of forgot that Armie was even in the room. 

He was having a fucking moment with the piano, okay, no one could blame him for that. He literally had had wet dreams about this piano (okay, he’s had wet dreams about being fucked _on _one of these pianos but that was like basically the same thing) and he wasn’t going to let something like fantasizing about sucking Armie off ruin this experience for him.__

__(Yes, he probably was, but if he was going to be living here, he could conceivably play it whenever he wanted, so maybe he didn’t need to focus on this first time too much.)_ _

__He sat on the bench, running his fingers almost reverently over the hood of the piano, lifting it and actually fucking whimpering when he saw the keys, gleaming back at him, crooked little black and white grin, and he ghosted his fingertips over them, shaking his head when he heard Armie laugh behind him, glancing over at him and grinning._ _

__“You can mock all you want, but this is an experience for me, okay, and I’m going to fucking enjoy it,” he said, fingers pressing down softly to form a simple C chord, moving to G, E, Armie behind him still laughing._ _

__“You can have all the moments you want, I’m just wondering if that’s what you sound like when you’re being fucked,” Armie said, and Timmy actually choked, his fingers falling clumsily on the keys, discordant._ _

__“You can’t just say shit like that,” he said, gaping at him a little and feeling himself harden again in his pants, and Armie shrugged, looking smug._ _

__“Pretty sure I can do what I want, can’t I, baby?” Timmy swallowed hard, putting his fingers back on the keys._ _

__“Yes, daddy.” Taking a breath, he rolled his shoulders again, sitting up straight and putting his fingers on the keys, thinking for a minute before smirking to himself and starting to play. He flowed into it naturally, a piece he’d played numerous times, but slowing it down a little, making it a little more dramatic, and he bit his tongue at the corner of his mouth, waiting for Armie to figure out what he was playing._ _

__It only took until the first hit of the chorus, and then he heard Armie come up behind him, hand clamping down on the back of his neck, and Timmy stopped playing, tipping his head back snd blinking, fluttering his eyelashes under his hair innocently. “Something wrong, daddy?”_ _

__“Rihanna, Timmy? Really?” Armie sounded like he was fighting amusement, and Timmy could see the twitch of his mouth, and he just shrugged, singing softly under his breath._ _

__“Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it—” he gasped as Armie’s hand moved up to fist in his hair, pulling his head back at an awkward angle, his mouth falling open from the force, and he locked eyes with Armie, licking over his lower lip. “You just said I had to play nicely, daddy, you didn’t say what you wanted me to play.”_ _

__“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?” Armie asked, the smile winning for a moment as one corner of his mouth quirked up, and Timmy tried to nod against the hand in his hair, hissing as it pulled harder and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, Armie humming behind him. “So you like that, huh, baby?” He crooned, doing it again, making Timmy whimper and arch up off the bench, fingers once again slamming on the keys, fumbling over notes in a messy crash of sound._ _

__“Yes, daddy,” he gasped out, trying to keep his hands on the keys because, well, Armie hadn’t told him he could move them. He opened his eyes, craned them back to keep an eye on Armie from the angle he was being held at, and whined when he saw Armie’s hand moving at the front of his pants, trying to twist to face him, but Armie just fisted his hand in Timmy’s hair tighter, twisting the strands between his fingers and making Timmy moan._ _

__“Did I say you could do that?” He asked, and Timmy shook his head the minute amount he could, and Armie smiled at him indulgently. “I didn’t, no. And you played very nicely, but you were naughty with it, so I don’t really think you deserve daddy’s cock.” Timmy opened his mouth to protest, words coming out a muffled whine when Armie took advantage of his open mouth and pressed three fingers of his free hand in Timmy’s mouth, sliding them in to the knuckle, Timmy gagging slightly before he pulled them out just a bit, letting his fingertips stroke over Timmy’s tongue, the bitter tang of his own precome sliding off his fingers._ _

__Timmy whimpered, closing his mouth around the fingers in his mouth and working his tongue around them, licking the taste of Armie off his own fingers, eyes watering from the pressure on his hair, the angle of his neck, but he wanted to be good, and he was so fucking hard his dick could cut glass and this was both the most unfair and most hot thing that had ever happened to him and he should definitely, he thought, make drunk decisions more often._ _

__Armie pulled his fingers out, a string of saliva connecting them to Timmy’s mouth briefly, and then he gentled his hand in Timmy’s hair, petting through his curls. “That’s my good boy,” he said softly, moving his hands to his pants and catching Timmy when he swayed a moment later, hands firm on his shoulders and he kept them there until Timmy shivered a little, blinking and feeling the fog in his brain clearing up a little. “What do you say we go get your things,” Armie said, rubbing his fingers into the muscles at the back of Timmy’s neck. “And then we can see what happens after that?”_ _

__Timmy took a breath, trying to abate the urge to just come in his fucking pants, untouched, like some fucking teenager (and yes, he knew he wasn’t far off from that, but he had some restraint, thanks), and he nodded, tipping his head back and resting it against Armie’s hip, resisting the urge to nuzzle against his cock, just turn and open his pants and swallow him down, because this was Armie’s moment, and they were playing by his rules, and so he just nodded, smiling when Armie rewarded him by leaning down and kissing him softly._ _

__“See? You can be a good boy when you want.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweetteatimmychalamet on tumblr!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie is a little taken aback at just how down Timmy's luck is, and Timmy has a breakdown about it. A small one, but still a breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, back to our regularly scheduled updates. This was going to be longer but tbh I split it into this chapter and the next one because I needed a solid end point for THIS part of the conversation before moving into the next so uhhhh pls forgive me BUT THIS IS STILL 1.3K WORDS FOR U ALL.
> 
> Thanks for all your support of this story and ONCE AGAIN helping the the plagiarism issue <333 I love you guys so much.

Timmy had half expected the town car to take them to the hotel, since he’d been driven everywhere from the first moment he’d met Armie, but when they exited the house, there’d been an _almost_ nondescript sedan waiting for them--almost in the sense that it was a fucking Mercedes and he hadn’t even realized Mercedes _made_ sedans before this moment, and he snorted a little as he climbed in, turned on beyond any rational measure and also still reeling from the fact that this was his life. Armie turned to him, one eyebrow raised in silent question as he started the car, and Timmy shook his head.

“It’s just. This is literally the most expensive dad car you could possibly own, and I was kind of expecting like an Aston Martin or something, considering how huge the house is.”

“The Aston Martin’s in the garage,” Armie had said, tone so neutral Timmy had squinted at him, unsure if he was joking or not, and then decided he probably wasn’t, because with a house that large of _course_ there was a fucking garage with numerous cars hidden in it, like some sort of fucking Tony Stark garage, and when he said as much, Armie laughed, and Timmy’s whole stomach had thrummed with the sound, ridiculously pleased that he’d made him laugh.

There wasn’t that much to get from the hotel, once they arrived and Armie had slid the doorman cash to ensure his car stayed where it was. All of Timmy’s school things were already in his backpack, which was already at the _huge fucking mansion_ , and when they got to the room he grabbed his clothes from the night before off the floor and shoved them into his duffel, going into the bathroom to grab his deodorant and toothbrush. Armie was frowning down at the bag on the bed when he came back in, and Timmy stopped, nervous again.

“I….what is that face for?” came out of his mouth before he could really stop himself from talking, and he needed to work on his filter, for fuck’s sake. Armie turned to him, hands in his pockets, studying him for a moment. 

“You said this was all you had,” he said, tone that curious neutral again, and it made Timmy more nervous, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he nodded. “Tim, this is four pairs of jeans, seven pairs of underwear, a handful of t-shirts, and two sweaters.” Timmy nodded again. “You’re seriously telling me this is _all_ the clothes you own?” Timmy flushed, looking down at the floor, shoulders hunching in shame and embarrassment, and he twirled his toothbrush between his fingers. He could explain why that was, of course, but he’d known the guy for twenty-four hours, and it was a lot easier to be coy and beg to suck someone’s cock than it was to explain exactly why you only owned enough clothes to get you through one week and how you did laundry every Sunday to make sure that you had clean clothes the following Monday and how that was really not practical and you _knew_ that but you didn’t really have many choices.

So he just shrugged instead, feeling his face flame, the dinner in his stomach twisting uncomfortably until he thought he might throw up, chest tight, fingers digging into his palm around his toothbrush, and then Armie was in front of him, hands lingering over his shoulders as though he was asking for permission to touch him, and Timmy jerked one shoulder again, eyes on the floor, Armie’s perfectly polished shoes in his vision and his own threadbare sneakers next to them, duct tape along one sole because it had started to rip away.

God, what the fuck was he doing here, he didn’t belong here?? This was so stupid, this was the dumbest thing he’d ever done, and Armie was going to tell him he was basically useless and stupid just like--

And then Armie’s hands were on his shoulders, drawing him in against him, wrapping around his back and without really realizing it, Timmy flung his arms around Armie’s waist, face pressed into his neck as he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed back the lump in his throat, the heavy press of heat behind his eyes, shaking a little but really too far past giving a shit to, you know, give a shit.

“I’m sorry,” Armie said softly, rubbing his hand in circles over Timmy’s back. “I didn’t mean for that to sound judgemental, and I honestly wasn’t judging you, I was just surprised. I thought last night you meant that was all you needed for a few days, not that that was everything you had. I’m sorry, it took me by surprise, and I’m sorry if I upset you.” Timmy sniffled against the wool of Armie’s peacoat, feeling a stray tear finally escape and make the wool against his cheek wet, scratchy, and Armie kissed his temple, the top of his head, his hands still rubbing in soothing motions, and Timmy felt himself relax, start to take deep breaths, and he finally nodded and pulled back a little, knew his eyes must be puffy but Armie didn’t comment on it.

Armie studied him for a moment, then kissed him properly, cupping Tim’s jaw in his hands and lingering over it, a more tender moment than they’d shared since meeting and Timmy internally screamed at his stupid fluttering heart to _get the fuck over it_. “We’re going to have to rectify that, it’s winter, you need warmer clothes. But we can do that this weekend. Are you ready to head back?” Timmy nodded, and Armie took his toothbrush and deodorant from him, tucking them into the duffel before hefting it, slinging one arm around Timmy’s shoulders as they walked out of the hotel.

“I’m sorry I kind of keep…..falling apart,” Timmy said, once they were in the elevator on the long ride down. “I just….there’s like a lot of shit that led to me being here, and I just. It fucks with me a lot? And you’re the only person aside from my friends who’s been, like. Decent to me in almost a year, so I’m sorry I keep just…..being a fucking moron,” he said, laughing and rubbing his hands over his face. 

Armie shook his head as they exited, taking Timmy’s free hand with his. “Don’t apologize for it. You’re entitled to your emotions, and I’m sorry if my reactions to things made you upset. I was just surprised, that’s all, and also a little impressed, that you were managing all that on your own. You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”

Timmy looked up at him, striding towards his stupid fucking Mercedes with a ratty duffel in his hand, looking like he was the Most Interesting Man In The World or some shit, and smiled a little. “Yeah, I know. Thanks. So, back home?”

Armie got the duffel situated, and waited until Timmy was in the car to pull away. “Back home. And since you’ve been good, there’s rewards in store for you.”

Timmy groaned, his head hitting the headrest as he tossed it back. “You literally cannot just fucking throw shit like that out there, dude.” It was a jarring change of subject, but he was grateful for it, it took his mind off of….well. Everything.

Armie smirked at him from the driver’s seat. “Sure I can. And I know you like it, you’re not very good at hiding when you’re turned on by something.” He punctuated his words by sliding one hand up Timmy’s thigh, making him whimper and tense up.

Well, that was just fucking rude. True, but rude.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety attacks and presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for loving this??? i love all of you <33

Going back to the mansion with the little duffle of his clothes felt fucking ridiculous, because now Armie knew that that was all he owned in the entire universe and even though he wasn’t like _pitying_ Timmy or anything, he still looked….aghast, or some other fancy fucking word for “totally freaked out”, and now Timmy was going inside his huge stupid house with his _one duffel bag full of clothes_ and hey, maybe he was having an anxiety attack.

As soon as he realized that was what was happening, he just sat down in the middle of the hallway he and Armie were walking down and covered his face with his hands, trying to remember how to breathe. He hadn’t had this many anxiety attacks in this short a period of time since--well. For a while. He couldn’t think about “since” right now because he would start crying, probably, and that would ruin the moment of whatever the fuck was happening here ( _sure, Tim,_ he thought to himself, _the moment. There’s no moment here there’s just you freaking out!!!_ ), and he felt Armie’s hands on his shoulders, moving gently to his wrists and tugging his hands from his face.

Armie was crouched in front of him, eyes steady on Timmy’s, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of Timmy’s wrists with his thumbs. “You okay?” Timmy took a breath, then another, and nodded, laughing a little.

“Yeah, just. You know, moving into mansions always gives me some jitters, and you’d think I’d be _used_ to it by now, with the number of mansions I’ve lived in…” he trailed off and watched Armie smile at him, feeling himself smile back, his hands stopping the fine trembling that had occupied them since he’d sat down, and Armie shifted, gripping Timmy’s wrists more firmly and pulling him up, catching Timmy with one hand splayed against his lower back when Timmy stumbled up and into him.

“Well, good. Because if you’re feeling better,” Armie lowered his head and scraped his teeth over the curve of Timmy’s jaw. “Then you can have your presents.” 

Timmy felt all the blood in his body rush to his dick and was, honestly, surprised he didn’t pass out from how quickly it happened.

Armie was smirking at him, hand moving down to cup Timmy’s ass, and he shivered, fingers gripping Armie’s hips and he pushed himself up slightly, nuzzling at Armie’s neck. “Presents sound nice,” he said, voice muffled against Armie’s sweater, and he felt his breath catch in his throat when Armie _squeezed_ his ass, his hips canting forwards looking for some kind of friction or _something_ , but then Armie was pulling away and catching Timmy’s hand in his, tugging him behind him.

Timmy stumbled and swore, and Armie looked back at him, all innocence. “You okay, baby?” he asked, and Timmy scowled at him, rolling his eyes.

“You okay baby,” he mocked back, slurring the words together and making Armie laugh, his fingers moving to link with Timmy’s as he pulled him closer, lifting their joined hands and kissing the back of Timmy’s.

“You’re going to pay for being a brat,” Armie informed him cheerfully, and Timmy gave him _his_ best innocent smile in return.

“Oh, I’m _counting_ on it, daddy.”

\------------

Armie gave him the choice of his own bedroom or Armie’s room, and when Timmy had hesitantly asked if he could have his own space just for when he needed to do composition stuff and be loud and out of the way, Armie had immediately said yes, he could have the bedroom next to Armie’s and sleep with him whenever he wanted. When Timmy had leered at him, Armie had rolled his eyes, cuffed him on the head, and called him a brat. 

Which probably had the opposite of the desired effect, because it just made Timmy feel warm all over and shiver, pleased with the name (he didn’t consider until much later that maybe that _was_ the desired effect).

He stowed his things in one dresser drawer, took in the huge bed with the comforter practically screaming _sleep on me!!!_ at him, and then turned to Armie, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Presents?” he asked, catching the corner of his lower lip between his teeth and smiling brightly, and Armie shook his head, rolled his eyes, and strolled out of the room.

Timmy was debating following him when Armie came back in and deposited two slim boxes in Timmy’s hands, and Timmy dropped them on the bed, wiggling the lid off the first one, blinking down at the fucking _phone_ when it fell into his hand. He just stared at it, and then looked up at Armie.

“You got me a _phone_ ,” he said, confused, and a little overwhelmed. Armie just shrugged.

“Well, yes. I need to be able to get in touch with you, and it’ll be easier for you to talk to me. Also, now you can talk to your friends easier. It’s not a big deal, but I can take it back if you want.” He reached for it, and Timmy pressed it against his chest, shaking his head.

“Nope, you gave it to me, it’s mine now.” He stroked his fingers over it, marveling at the shine of it, how thin it was in his hand, and he smiled up at Armie a moment later. “Thank you, daddy.” 

Armie moved to him, tipping his chin up and kissing him firmly. “You’re welcome, baby. You going to open the other one?”

Timmy nodded, setting the phone _carefully_ on the bedside table before tearing the other box open, feeling himself get even harder as he stared at the items that fell into his hands, sucking his lower lip between his teeth and looking over at Armie.

“When can we use them?” he asked, brushing his fingers over the slim black plug, the matching cock ring, the silicone cock cage that was making him a little nervous but a _lot_ more turned on. Armie fisted one hand in his hair and tipped his head back, making Timmy’s mouth fall open, and he felt his breathing go ragged, mouth falling open.

“Patience, baby. Didn’t you want something else, earlier?” Timmy had to blink a couple of times to focus, but then remembered, _yes_ , he did want something else earlier, and he nodded the best he could, and Armie smiled at him indulgently, tracing two fingers over Timmy’s mouth before slipping the digits past his lips, Timmy winding his tongue between them and whimpering a little, the sensation nowhere _near_ close to what he really wanted.

Armie hummed, a pleased sound, then tugged on Timmy’s hair. “On your knees, baby.”

Timmy was on the floor before the last word had escaped Armie’s mouth, fingers sliding out of his mouth as he did so, eye level with the bulge straining at the front of Armie’s slacks, and he leaned in, not even caring that he looked shameless, looked _eager_ , mouthing at Armie’s pants, the fingers in his hair tightening and pulling him away and he whined, eyes moving up to meet Armie’s, panting already and not even _doing_ anything yet.

“I thought you could be good for me, baby,” Armie said, undoing his fly one-handed, Timmy’s eyes locking on his hand, watching his fingers undo the buttons and push down the zipper, hand sliding inside his briefs to grip his cock, watched Armie stroke himself through the material and whined again.

Okay, so he sounded _really_ desperate, but there was nothing wrong with liking sucking cock!! Besides, he figured, Saoirse and Ansel were probably going to yell at him anyways for moving in with the guy, so he might as well get his mouth on his dick _once_ before that happened.

“I can be good,” he breathed out, the words hoarse, struggling to stay still without Armie’s hand grounding him, trying to show he could be a good boy, he could be patient, he could wait, and Armie tsked above him.

“I don’t think you’re being very good, but maybe you can follow orders,” he said, finally pulling his cock out of his pants and Timmy felt his eyes widen, literally _felt_ saliva pool in his mouth because god, _fuck_ Armie was huge, cock thick and precum beading at the tip and it took all his willpower to not lean in and just get his mouth _on that_. “Mouth open, baby,” Armie said softly, and Timmy obeyed, opening his mouth, tongue resting on his lower lip, not even caring that he was practically drooling on himself, sure that he must look wanton as _fuck_ but god, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, so how he looked? Not high on his list of priorities.

When Armie held one hand in front of Timmy’s face, he leaned in hesitantly, licking over his fingers, glancing up to catch Armie’s nod, and he applied himself after that, licking wet, messy stripes over his fingers and palm, catching the pads of Armie’s fingers in his teeth briefly and reveling in the small hitch in Armie’s breath that action got him. Armie moved his hand away finally and began jerking himself off, head of his cock just _barely_ brushing Timmy’s mouth, lips still spread, and he stuck his tongue out further, whimpering when the head of Armie’s cock just barely grazed over it, a tease of what Armie tasted like.

“Patience, baby,” Armie said above him, one hand cupping the back of Timmy’s neck, and Timmy kept his eyes on Armie’s hand, on his cock disappearing inside his own fist, thumb swirling around the head to spread precum over it on the downstroke, the way Armie’s fingers barely brushed his tongue on every upstroke, and he felt himself drooling, felt his own spit pooling out of his mouth and down the sides of his chin, didn’t even fucking _care_ and finally broke when Armie’s breathing got more erratic, strokes faster.

“Please, daddy,” he said, licking his lips and looking up at Armie, desperately hard inside his jeans, hips hitching forward into nothing in a desperate effort for friction. “ _Please_ , please let me, I want to, I can be good.” Armie’s hand tightened in his hair, and Timmy moaned, rocking his hips down and his mouth falling open again as Armie’s orgasm hit, his eyes closing as Armie’s cum landed in his mouth, on his cheeks, and he dimly heard himself whimpering through it.

Armie was breathing heavily above him when Timmy blinked open his eyes, closing his mouth and swallowing what had landed on his tongue, licking his lips moments later to collect more, chasing the taste, because he hadn’t been allowed to _blow_ Armie so this was as good as he was going to get, and Armie pulled him to his feet with the hand in his hair, cupped him through his jeans and _rubbed_ and Timmy was coming in his fucking pants like a goddamn fourteen year old having a wet dream or something, whimpering into Armie’s mouth as Armie kissed him, chasing the taste of his own release on Timmy’s tongue.

(Timmy dimly was aware of the fact that he’d messed up one of his only pairs of underwear, but really, in the moment? Not fucking important.)

He tried to catch his breath, resting his forehead on Armie’s chest, Armie’s hand in his hair gentling, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. “There’s my good boy,” Armie said, and Timmy could hear himself practically _purr_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy thinks about some things and Saoirse finds out about Armie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS WOW OKAY IT'S BEEN OVER A MONTH SORRY!!!! I've been going through some really bad mental health stuff lately, and I rewrote this chapter four times before deciding I just had to post it and get it done so my apologies if it seems short or rushed but the next part really needs to be its own thing. I'm finally back in the groove of things and will hopefully get the other two updated soon as well. Thanks for still sticking around, I love you.

“I’m sorry, you _moved in with him_?!” Saoirse whisper-screamed at him as they looked over the kids they were supervising.

TImmy hadn’t been able to figure out how to tell Armie he still needed to go to work because he didn’t know how to ask Armie if he still _needed_ to go to work but he figured he’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Instead he’d just called Saoirse to come pick him up, which had led to her staring angrily at him the entire way to the music store where they helped with lessons on Saturdays, to her starting and stopping about ten different sentences, to, finally, the one she’d managed to utter.

Timmy smiled at her winningly. “Um. Yes. But he gave me a phone, so I can call you now, which I did this morning, so that’s cool, right?” He was desperate to move on from this topic, but with the way Sersh was glaring daggers at him, that was not going to happen any time soon.

“Okay, a phone is one thing, Timmy, but you moved in with this guy after knowing him for less that forty-eight hours!!” She said, voice low as she kept one eye on the kids currently attempting to play piano. 

“Yeah, well, it was better than the shithole I was in,” he said, somewhat sulkily, and Saoirse turned disapproving eyes back on him. 

“You _know_ Ansel and I would have helped, you know that, Timmy. Sure, we can’t give you a mansion or a phone, but we did the best we could and you just refused more help.” TImmy hunched his shoulders, picking at a scab on his thumb. 

“I know, Sersh, it’s just….this was so much less complicated, okay? And I know you guys are basically the reason I didn’t starve to death, and you drive me everywhere and you make sure I have composition paper and stuff, but this….this means now I can stop inconveniencing you.”

Saoirse stared at him for a full ten seconds before hitting him over the head with the beginner’s sonatas book she was holding. “You’re a grade A fucking idiot,” she informed him before stalking off, making him hunch even smaller.

\------------

So okay, maybe phrasing it as _inconveniencing you_ hadn’t been the smartest way to go about that sentence, because he knew he wasn’t an inconvenience to his best friends, they were his _best friends_ and they wanted to help. But neither of them had to rely on other people for anything, really, at least not the way he did, after what happened, and it made him feel….worthless, if he was being honest. It made him feel worthless and like he was taking advantage of their friendship and like he had to do things alone.

Which he had done, thanks very much, for almost two years. Two shitty, miserable years draining his savings account and living in a shithole and selling almost everything he owned and living off of apples and pop tarts and the occasional swiped burger from the cafeteria (his second job) so he could at least get protein in him and not be anemic (which he probably was anyways but that was a different problem, a Future Timmy problem). Sersh and Ansel helped, but every time they did it was without pity, without any acknowledgement that what they were doing was helping--like the bag Saoirse had passed him two days before, wordlessly, just full of basic food staples she knew he would accept without bitching about it being too much and moving on.

So he’d been unfair to say he was inconveniencing them, because really, he was the one who put boundaries on the help he would accept, and he knew that both of them would have done so much more if he’d just let them. He also didn’t know how to explain to them properly that he _couldn’t_ let them because then Ansel would have just eyed him like he was stupid and Saoirse would have lectured him on friendship. He had his pride, and he’d been clinging to it by a thread for two years. 

And if either of them had asked him to explain how being a literal sugar baby was easier than accepting help from his friends, he wouldn’t have really known what to say except that accepting help from a stranger who thought he was hot was somehow easier than letting them know how bad things really were. 

(The fact that he’d let his creepy, grabby landlord barter blowjobs for rent the past two months was the thing they’d probably freak out about the most, because that was basically prostitution, right? And maybe being a sugar baby was close to the same thing, but at least he _chose_ to do this and wasn’t doing it out of desperation of being kicked out of his place. Well, that was part of it, but he was going to choose being kicked out over blowjobs anyways this time, and he didn’t want to have to explain to them why he was suddenly homeless and living in the practice rooms in the music building.)

When their shift was over, he strolled right up to Saoirse and slung his arms around her waist, nuzzling under her chin until she huffed out a laugh and hugged him around the shoulders, tugging his hair a little harder than she needed to. “Ow,” he said, voice muffled in her neck.

“Well, that’s for being an ass,” she said, pulling back and studying him, eyes serious on his. “This is really what you’re going to do, then?” Timmy licked his lips and nodded, dropping his gaze after a second, and Saoirse huffed and pulled him into a tighter hug. “At least I know where he lives now so I can murder him if he hurts you,” she said, and Timmy smiled against her shoulder.


End file.
